


Hoover

by Pink_Dalek



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a gift. Fred isn't the sort of clot who gives his wife appliances as gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoover

**Author's Note:**

> Because poor Win having to clean the carpets with that push sweeper bugged me.

Fred Thursday got into the Jaguar.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning, Morse." Fred handed over a familiar paper packet. "Compliments of Win."

Morse peeked inside. "Cheese and pickle?"

"It's Monday, isn't it?" As they pulled away from the curb, Fred spoke again. "While we're out and about today, think we could stop by that appliance shop near the nick?"

"I don't see why not."

"Going to get Win an electric hoover," Fred explained. "She's been using a sweeper for years, and every time I suggest replacing it, she comes up with another idea for the money. Last time, she insisted I needed a new winter coat instead. Well, I've got a coat, she's got a coat, the kids are earning enough now to keep themselves in coats and next year the army will give Sam a coat, so she's getting a proper hoover." Fred's vehemence on the subject surprised Morse, but it was all he could do not to laugh as well. "I'll put it in the boot and give it to her this evening."

Morning at the station was quiet. Morse got all of the paperwork caught up, filed, submitted in triplicate, and whatever else it was supposed to be, while Thursday spent part of the time in meetings with Bright. After lunch they had a call to a house on the outskirts of town, but barring something odd turning up in the autopsy, even Morse had to admit it looked like natural causes.

"After all, he was a ninety-two-year-old man," Max DeBryn pointed out sensibly.

On the way back they stopped at the appliance shop. Fred questioned the clerk about the reliability of different models and lifted each one to see how heavy it was, while the clerk sprinkled sand and fluff on the carpet to demonstrate each one.

"Can they be used on wood floors as well?"

"Yes indeed, sir. This one is especially good at bare floors." Sand was sprinkled on a patch of uncarpeted floor so they could see. 

Fred made his choice of a lighter model that did well on both sorts of floors and paid for it. 

"Would you like a bow on it for the missus?"

"God no! I've told Win more than once, if I ever turn into one of those clots who gives his wife an appliance as a gift, she's within her rights to chuck me in the ocean the next time we go to the seashore. This is just a long-delayed necessity."

The hoover went into the boot and they returned to the station for an uneventful afternoon, except for Strange winning the latest office football pool.

Morse did some revising for his sergeant's exam. He was reaching the point where he just wanted to get the bloody thing over with. He was being conscientious about the paperwork and all of his general-duties work, and trying his absolute best not to ruffle Bright's feathers, but there were times it seemed like there was no pleasing the little fusspot. The prospect of getting the exam done, and his growing friendship and working relationship with Fred Thursday, were sometimes the only things keeping him from chucking it all in and resigning.

Finally it was time to drop off Fred and the hoover. "She'd better not kick up a fuss and try to return it. Maybe I'll pretend I misplaced the receipt."

"Good luck, sir," Morse said seriously, as his blue eyes sparkled with fun.

"Thank you, Morse. See you in the morning."


End file.
